


When You Move I Move with You

by clio_jlh



Series: April Is Over 'verse [2]
Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Ballet, Character of Color, Chromatic Character, Dancing, First Meetings, Gay Male Character, Humor, LGBTQ Character, LGBTQ Character of Color, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-20
Updated: 2012-04-20
Packaged: 2017-11-04 00:23:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/387597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clio_jlh/pseuds/clio_jlh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hikaru doesn't usually go in for ballet; jazz is more his scene.  But the young dancer at the Ballets Russes is changing his mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When You Move I Move with You

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [Versicolor Week Challenge @ tumblr](http://versicolorweek.tumblr.com/post/20142108116/lovethyfather-what-is-versicolor-week-a-lot) and posted there a couple of weeks ago in a slightly less cleaned-up version. Title from "Collect Call" by Metric. From the 1920s Paris AU established by the Chapel/Rand-centric [April Is Over](http://jlh.livejournal.com/654613.html) which I wrote for the most recent STBB.

As Hikaru and Nyota exited their cab at the Paris Opera, he saw several heads turning their way, and hoped that it was more than the novelty of seeing a Negress escorted by a Japanese man. Nyota was a real knockout in her deep violet dress, and the Ballets Russes a perfect see-and-be-seen opportunity for a singer new to the Paris scene.

Hikaru mentally prepared himself for ninety minutes of boredom. He could appreciate the hard work and high artistry, but the ballet and the symphony left him cold. There was no pizzazz, no whiz-bang, just a bunch of chilly Europeans being chilly.

The opera was different but then, that was run by Italians.

The music started, the curtains parted, and several dancers in white crinolines pirouetted out on their tip toes to the sound of strings and flute. Then suddenly a young man came leaping--no, flying--out of the wings, and began to jump and spin around and among the girl dancers. His movement had as much fire as any African dance in Nyota's programme, and he seemed to make a real connection with the other dancers and his audience. He had a little twinkle in his eye that invited you in, and Hikaru found himself moving forward in his seat as he watched.

It didn't hurt that the fella had a behind you could bounce a quarter off of. He looked in the programme and found the name: Pavel Chekov.

They met up with some old war buddies of Hikaru's at a nearby cafe after the performance, and no sooner had he begun to sing the dancer's praises then the man himself appeared just behind his chair.

"Thank you," Pavel said in a thick Russian accent. And that twinkle in his eye was even more entrancing at close quarters.


End file.
